Flesh and Spirit
by lalalei
Summary: Suppose MA-3 from Rearmed was Hal, the dying soldier in the last level of the NES game. Hal infiltrates the Albatross with the intent of helping his heroes, but runs into unexpected complications on the way. Written in 2008; originally given the title of "Untitled Bionic Commando Story."


_As far as I knew when I wrote this back on October 30, 2008, this was the very first piece of Bionic Commando fanfiction ON THE INTERNET. It takes place mostly in the Bionic Commando Rearmed universe, mixed with stuff from the NES game and my own headcanons; for the purpose of this story Hal the bazooka guy from the NES game is_ _ _MA-3, the guy who has a crush on Haley in-game, and is_ a separate character from Haley the helicopter pilot who gives you the bazooka in Rearmed._

* * *

He saw Captain Spencer running for his life from heat lasers; the sound of maniacal laughter reached his ears. Not exactly a comforting image.

He knew better than to call out to him, though. Distraction could mean death. The Captain was on a mission, after all. And MA-3 was on a mission of his own.

Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, he knew he had to help Spencer and Super Joe somehow. They were the best of the best, and tales of their exploits filled him with awe.

And then there was Haley. His idol. She was everything he wasn't: A brave pilot, willing to risk it all for the FSA. Oh, and a girl. She'd come on this mission too, taking them within safe distance of the war machine so they could get aboard.

MA-3 was just a regular agent, trained for reconnaissance and spying. Truth be told, every time he went into an enemy installation to set up communications he was shaking.

 _That's why I'm here,_ he thought as he discarded the machine he'd used to get on board the Albatross. (To tell the truth, he had no clue what it was.) _I'm here to prove myself, and help them in any way I can._

 _The Captain can take care of himself_ , MA-3 thought as he descended an emergency lift, then ran to the right towards an open area. _Right now, I have to find Joe or Haley and help-_

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as he caught the scent of smoke. Smoke and flames.

Running full tilt now, the agent saw the twisted wreckage of a helicopter. He could barely see the charred remains of an anti-aircraft missile. The copter was still burning despite the rain, and a column of smoke rose up into the sky.

And lying face down, just clear of the wreckage, was Haley.

MA-3 dropped his revolver in shock; he ran to her faster than he'd ever run before in his life. Panting, he pulled her away from the flames. He watched Haley intently, waiting for a sign of movement.

There was none.

Panicking now, the agent felt for a pulse. To his relief, he found one, but it was very slow. Each heartbeat seemed fainter than the one before.

"Haley," he breathed, hoping against hope that she'd respond. She didn't.

 _Dead or alive,_ he thought suddenly, _she has to get out of here. Fast. If she's alive, she needs treatment immediately! I-We can't lose such a brave woman! And if she's dead…_

His thoughts trailed off. If she were dead she'd need a proper burial.

MA-3 reached down and picked Haley up. He couldn't carry his gun and the pilot at the same time, so he left it behind. With Spencer and Joe around, he doubted he'd need it anyway.

He had Haley. He had the hope that he was helping Captain Spencer and Joe by saving her.

All he needed now was a way to escape.

Running back to the lift, MA-3 noticed a door just beyond it. It seemed to be an emergency exit; the door was already open.

He ran in without hesitation, still holding the pilot in his arms.

"Haley," he breathed, rounding a corner, "don't worry. I'm going to get you out of here!"

Just then, everything went white.

What seemed to be a compact mass of energy caught him head on; it felt as if his entire body was burning. He screamed and stumbled forward. Haley toppled out of his hands and fell to the floor, where she lay still and unmoving.

"Haley! Are you—"

His cry was cut off as an iron hand clamped around his neck. MA-3 gasped in shock and pain; before he could react he was jerked forward as if weightless.

His assailant laughed at him, laughed as he cast a glance at the fallen woman, laughed as he attempted to kick his way free. When MA-3 saw that escape was hopeless, he turned to see who was holding him.

The agent could barely make out his face in the dim light, but the fact that Spencer was still fighting, and the insane glint in his eyes, meant this man couldn't be him. MA-3 knew of only one other man with bionic enhancements.

"Rank," Gottfried Groeder intoned; it was the basic runaround for prisoners of war. A sliver of hope filled MA-3's heart. Perhaps they would only be captured, like Joe…

"Mission Agent 3," he choked out. Pausing, he gestured to Haley. "She's a Corporal. Flies a helicopter—"

Groeder gave him a vicious backhand with his free, organic arm; it was clear he'd said too much. Smirking, the Imperial spoke.

"Serial number," he said dryly.

"MA-3," the agent spit out. "Haley's—"

"Dead," Groeder finished, "Just as you will be."

"Liar," MA-3 spat. Though he himself had doubts as to Haley's state of being, he couldn't let this monster know that. "She's alive, I know it!"

Groeder glanced at him, at her, then shrugged.

"Even if she is, it's not for much longer. I take no more prisoners."

MA-3 shivered. He wondered what death felt like. Whether it would be painful or not, whether he would cling to life for a while or expire at once. Whether he would be choked or shot, or if his luck held, drowned as the Albatross crashed.

He wondered what Haley had thought of, as the missile streaked into the cockpit. If she had had time to think of anything. He wondered if she was as afraid of death as he was. Probably not.

Groeder lifted the agent bodily off the ground to better see the look in his eyes. He knew that look well. It was the look of a coward. The look of a man who tried to be brave, to laugh in death's face, but inside was terrified beyond measure. The mouth might be set and determined, as it was with Spencer (how he longed to get his hands on him again!), but the eyes betrayed all.

"Name. Don't bother with the girl's," Groeder hissed, tightening the grip on his throat. MA-3 choked, tried to pry the cold steel off his neck, but succeeded only in cutting his fingers on their sharp edges. Blood trickled down his hand.

MA-3 said nothing.

"Name," Groeder repeated.

The agent broke his gaze to cast one last glance at Haley. _I'm sorry, he thought. All things considered, you were the bravest of all of us…You gave your all..._

And as he thought that, he heard her voice.

 _"Hey! You underestimate yourself, MA-3. You came all the way here for me, and the reason you're here now is because you thought for my safety… I'd say you're the courageous one around here…"_

As Groeder waited for a response, he was startled to see a change in the man's eyes. They became steely, defiant. And beneath it…acceptance?

MA-3 gathered his breath, gathered his courage, and spit into the Imperial's face.

"Go…to…he—"

"What was that," Groeder hissed, his steel hand constricting; it now cut into the agent's neck.

Calm now, blood running down his neck, MA-3 managed to speak.

"Hal. My name is Hal."

Groeder nodded curtly, thanked him, and snapped the man's neck.

Hal's lifeless body dropped to the floor; soon, Groeder thought, it would be Spencer's turn to do the same. The thought made him smile.

"Ah, the flesh is truly weak," he crowed.

Perhaps. But the spirit was strong.


End file.
